


Grandest Intention

by TF_Pratchet



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Human, Brother Feels, Bus, Curiosity, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Explanations, First Meetings, Help, Humanformers, Lack of Communication, Misunderstandings, Movie Reference, Multi, Negative Influences, Nicknames, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Police, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, School Shootings, Transformers as Humans, Twins, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TF_Pratchet/pseuds/TF_Pratchet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There were many things in Paul’s (Prowl’s) life that fought to be a priority against his job on the force—not the least of these was his brother.<em> Human!verse.</em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grandest Intention

**Author's Note:**

> Paul: Prowl  
> Blaise: Bluestreak  
> Samuel: Smokescreen  
> Simon: Sideswipe  
> Spencer: Sunstreaker  
> Cameos: They'll end up being obvious, I think

“That was a great movie, Paul; thank you _so_ much for taking me. I know it was a long way to come and everything, but it was really nice to see Sammy again. By the way, did you smell his breath? I think he stopped drinking, so maybe that means he stopped gambling! Where did he say he gambles again? You’ve probably been there to arrest someone before, right? I hope there aren’t too many guys bigger than Sammy; they might not like how often he wins. Remember that one time we played that one game of War that lasted an entire _week_?! I thought it would never—”

“Blaise,” Paul interrupted, gripping his arm to bring the chatter to a halt. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to read and you’re being a little distracting.”

His brother’s blue gaze, twin to his own, lit up with understanding and he nodded. “Oh, alright, sorry. I know it’s not often you have time for reading and stuff. I’ll be quiet.”

Paul rewarded him with a grateful smile, one which faded once Blaise turned to look out the window of the bus. There were many things in Paul’s life that fought to be a priority against his job on the force—not the least of these was his brother.

It hadn’t been long ago that Blaise was in college, studying for a degree in English. If the trauma of the all-too-recent school shooting hadn’t driven him away, Blaise would still be there. Paul pursed his lips, still trying to filter Blaise’s chatter through the cracks so he could return to his reading. It wasn’t working. Closing the book, he squeezed his eyes closed and reminded himself to compartmentalize.

Their cousin Samuel was not only a gambler, but a counselor. It was an odd match, but he was great in both fields. When Paul had confessed his worry for Blaise, he’d known Sammy would understand, that he would have an answer.

“I deal with this every day; it’s normal for me,” he’d admitted. “But Blaise is different. He’s…talking more—he talks so much now—and…smiling less.”

“It’s a coping mechanism,” Sam stated surely. “You just have to be supportive.” Paul had sighed, privately thinking it was hopeless advice, and turned to leave, but Sam caught his arm before he could. “Paul. Supportive means actually _being_ there.”

These thoughts were jarred out of him when the bus came to a halt.

“Hey— _hey!_ Paul, look,” Blaise burst out, gesturing frenziedly to the window. “It’s Simon and Spencer! They’re at the stop!”

Paul glanced in the direction Blaise was pointing and sure enough, he recognized the other set of twins easily enough: one with black and red-streaked hair, the other with black and gold. He managed a smile for Blaise’s sake even as the pit of his stomach sank a little. As much as Blaise loved the pair, Paul wasn’t too fond of them. Most of the time they already had some prank laid out, ready to snatch the police officer in its nasty, usually messy clutches. Of course, as they stood at the bus stop, Simon and Spencer _seemed_ innocent enough.

“Let’s hurry up and say hi!” Blaise urged, scrambling to his feet and trying to maneuver past other passengers making their way out. “I don’t know what bus they’re about to catch and I don’t wanna miss them. C’mon, Paul!”

Paul opened his mouth to protest but his brother was already halfway down the aisle. Muttering a curse or two under his breath, Paul quickly gathered up his book, his water bottle and the bag to his left, heaving himself after him.

As he stumbled onto the sidewalk, Paul was met with a familiar sight: Simon greeting Blaise enthusiastically, though he could barely get a word in edgewise, and Spencer dodging Blaise’s attempts to ruffle his long hair, which was already trying to get out of control. Paul couldn’t help chuckling a little at that; he knew how much Spencer hated it when he looked anything less than perfect.

Simon glanced over Blaise’s shoulder and Paul nodded a hello, answered by a large grin.

“Paulie want a cracker?” he taunted, predictably. Paul silently ground his teeth, reminding himself that Blaise was present and wouldn’t appreciate it if he dropped his friend with one blow. How he _hated_ that nickname.

“No, I don’t,” he said shortly, coldly. Simon snickered at this reaction, but Blaise recognized that tone and moved to intervene.

“Uhh, have you had lunch yet? We could eat again, couldn’t we, Paul?”

Paul opened his mouth to protest that they had just spent their money on the movie and that, in fact, he couldn’t eat again, but Simon was already nodding and Spencer shrugged what looked like an agreement.

 _There’s no way I’m leaving him alone with these two_ , Paul swore. “That’s sounds alright.” Something stirred in him as he watched Blaise smile, genuine and unafraid. _Happy_ …Perhaps there was some hope after all, he realized as they started walking toward the row of restaurants on the other side of the street. They were a step closer to getting past what had happened.

“Great! Hey, Spence, Simon, have you seen that new movie on the other side of town? We just came from it; that’s why we were on the bus and ran into you! But anyway, the movie, it’s called _Footloose_ and it was really cool! The songs will get stuck in your head, I guarantee it, and that’s actually not that bad because they’re really catchy and fun! Maybe you can get me the soundtrack for Christmas or my birthday or something; that would be an awesome present! What’s the most awesome present you’ve ever gotten?”

“My suit,” Spencer replied with a smirk, smoothing the lapels of said clothing.

“Hair dye!” Simon exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously so his hair swirled. Spencer rolled his eyes, Paul overhearing him mutter something about ‘never keeps it tidy’.

“I never get tired of that,” Blaise told him gleefully before smacking his forehead. “Oh, wait, I was talking about the movie! Anyway, it’s about this Chicago kid who moves to a—”

His words were cut off by a surprisingly loud _bang!_ Paul whirled around, dropping his belongings and scanning the surrounding area, his hand already on the weapon tucked underneath his shirt. There wasn’t a threat, he realized as he recognized Jack, a mechanic with a tendency toward failed projects, and his friend Percy, hunched over the backfiring vehicle.

Sighing, Paul returned his attention to his companions, startling when he found Blaise no longer beside him. He was a yard or two away, pressed flat on the ground, clutching at the grass and doing his best to flatten himself into as small a profile ( _target_ ) as possible. His breath was coming hard and fast, his whole body trembling with the severity of the fight-or-flight reaction.

Swallowing hard, Paul moved to his side, lowering himself down and, after a moment’s hesitation, gingerly placing a hand on his brother’s back, between his shoulder blades. Simon glanced at Spencer worriedly and Paul waved his free hand to catch their attention, motioning toward his bag and mouthing, “Water bottle.”

Spencer seemed reluctant to kneel on the ground and search for it, so Simon shoved past him and did so. Paul watched with growing impatience as Simon rifled through the bag, looking more and more perplexed. Finally he shook his head helplessly. Paul centered him in a frankly venomous stare, to which Simon pulled the bag further open and tilted it so Paul could see.

Headphones, tapes held together by a rubber band, a white and blue jacket…?

“That’s not mine,” Paul announced abruptly. He felt Blaise flinch a little at the sound of his voice, but he couldn’t think about it for long. A shadow spread over them so Paul almost didn’t see the bottle being held out to him.

“Lookin’ for this?” an unfamiliar voice questioned, followed by the owner crouching in front of them. Paul nodded, quietly thanking the black man as he took the water and handed it to Blaise, who was sitting up.

“How did you—?”

“I was sittin’ next to you on the bus,” the stranger explained, lips curving into a wry smile. “Musta switched our bags in your hurry.”

“I apologize,” Paul said simply.

“No problem.” Just like that the smile disappeared and he turned his attention to Blaise. “You gonna be okay, my man?”

Blaise nodded as he drank, spilling some of the water down his shirt but not really in the mood to care.

“I need to be sure,” the man insisted. “I liked how happy you were lookin’ before that happened. Think you can get back there?”

Blaise set the bottle aside, staring at him hollowly. “It…takes _so long_ ,” he murmured. “It takes so long to get back to the good things when the bad things happen so fast.”

Paul barely stifled all the questions that tried to rise at this statement. _Why are you saying that to this stranger? Why haven’t you ever said something like that to me? Have you been_ pretending _for me this whole time?_

“Hmm.” The black man squinted, rocking back and forth on his heels. “‘And how long is that, Roger? About as long as it takes for compassion to die?’”

Blaise’s eyes widened and Paul felt him go straight as a ramrod. “You just quoted—”

“Yep. I was there too; that’s why I was on the bus. Dancin’ is my sport,” he agreed, rising to his feet and holding out a hand. Paul wasn’t sure why he felt so wary when Blaise took the hand and was helped up. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t expected the other hand to reach for him. Pressing his lips together against a refusal, he took it and was pulled upright with surprising vigor.

“Who are you?” he asked, mildly defensive as the man exchanged the misplaced bags with Simon, pulling out his white and blue jacket and shouldering into it.

“Jasper, but I’ve always thought that’s a little catty,” he remarked, coaxing something like amusement out of Blaise. It was more like a huff of air than a laugh, but it was more than he would have been up for a minute ago.

Paul wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders encouragingly even as he half-swung in the direction the stranger was going, tempted to follow him and unsure of why.

“What are you _called_ then?” he insisted.

“Oh, tons o’things, man: Scat, Freestyle, Meister…but I prefer Jazz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like none of us saw that coming ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Comment please and tell me if you like it!!!


End file.
